Black Luck
by Miss Mungoe
Summary: Sequel to 'Hard Liquor', set five years later during the Great Depression. The rich are becoming poor and the poor even poorer, and in the midst of it all, a former bootlegger finds himself dragged back into the spotlight in order to protect his growing family. But with what lurks in Magnolia's shadows, the recession is the least of his problems. – GaLe, historical AU.
1. Down in the Dirt

AN: 'TIS HERE. After a longer wait than I'd initially planned, but I'd also planned on having more time to write than I actually got, so there's that. BUT, I do hope you'll enjoy it regardless, and that the wait was worth it in the end. Keep in mind that _updates will be sporadic_, but that I will do my utmost to not leave you hanging for too long.

So, what do you need to know before you start? It's set circa five years after _Hard Liquor_, and a little over a year after a stock market crash similar to the Wall Street Crash of 1929. It's the Dirty Thirties, guys, so expect, well...dirt. Also, as per the usual, this fic is rated 'M' for coarse language and violence. **There will be no explicit sexual content, only suggestions. **

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Black Luck**

**by Miss Mungoe**

**Chapter I**

The Depression had done a real number on posh town.

Casting a glance across the street, Gajeel surveyed the city square, looking dreary as all hell in the dim light of the fading afternoon sun. A few people wandered to and fro, and his gaze lingered on a tired-looking woman tugging a gaggle of kids along behind her towards dirt town. He'd spent enough years with hungry brats to recognise some when he saw them, and the sight put an ugly taste in his mouth. The woman was empty-handed, but cut right past the small shops lined along the square, not even sparing them a glance as she picked up her pace. The kids at her heels followed suit, but unlike their mother, they all looked back with longing gazes.

Gajeel felt sick, and drew his eyes away, towards the stores in question. He'd used to look at the cheerfully open store-fronts like he looked at the people coming out of them – with barely restrained contempt, or if the occasion called for it, a good old fashioned sneer. Magnolia proper had always had too much _flair_ for his taste. Too many posh people, too many fancy flivvers.

Now, though...

"Enjoying the view?"

The wry purr from his right drew his attention, and he cut a sharp glance at his unexpected companion. "Ain't much of a view."

Loke expelled a sigh. "Yeah. I'd heard it was bad, but..." he trailed off with a shrug. "Didn't really prepare me for _this_."

Gajeel snorted. "Yeah, well, get used to it," he muttered, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "The hell are you doing back, anyways?" Offering it, he reached for his lighter as Loke accepted one with a nod of thanks. "Heard ya were doing pretty fine over the border."

Loke smirked as he tucked the snipe between his lips. "Don't believe everything you hear," he retorted, taking a long drag. "And anyway, what is it they say? There's no place like home?"

Gajeel scoffed. "Yeah, well, welcome back. This rust-bucket living up to yer expectations yet?"

Loke exhaled a lungful of smoke. "How long has it been this bad?"

The wry humour was gone, and so Gajeel only shrugged, "This bad? Past few months. Held on for a while after the crash. Could've fooled me at first, but it was just a matter of time. The world's going to hell, just taking its goddamn sweet time." He cast another glance at the man next to him, noting the faded fabric of his neatly pressed suit. It would appear his weren't the only paychecks that had stopped coming. "You been to see the old man yet?"

Loke nodded. "Just came from there." Something flickered in his gaze, and his mouth set in a grim line. "Laxus looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Makarov..."

"Looks like he's got one foot in the grave already," Gajeel supplied with a harsh scoff. "Been like that for a few weeks now." _And if things get any damn worse..._

"And you?" Loke asked. "How are you holding up? Last I heard you had a brat on the way." A faint smile touched his lips. "Congratulations, man. What was it? Lucy's letters never said."

The pain lodged beneath his ribcage swelled unexpectedly – startled like a deer caught unawares – but Gajeel kept himself from visibly flinching. Loke must have noticed regardless, because a look of concern flickered across his face, before realisation seemed to dawn on him.

"Nothing," Gajeel ground out at last, snipe clenched tight between his fingers, eyes trained on the run-down line of store-fronts across the square. "Not a damn thing."

From beside him, Loke said nothing, and the silence stretched on so long Gajeel found himself wondering if it wasn't worse than whatever the man could have said, when he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry."

Gajeel didn't respond immediately, but took another drag from the cigarette, wondering idly if anything outside a barrel of bad whiskey could ever take the sting out of a phantom wound that never seemed to stop festering. "Stillborn," he said then, after a tense break. "It was a boy." The words were bitter on his tongue, like he was invoking something dark just by speaking them.

"And...Levy? How's she holding up?"

Meeting his companion's gaze, Gajeel snorted. "What d'ya think?"

Loke sighed. "I think I need a strong drink. The speakeasy still up and running?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'running'."

Dropping the cigarette to the pavement, Loke straightened his jacket. "I mean is there still alcohol?"

Gajeel shrugged. "If you're not too choosy about yer drink, yeah."

"Join me for a glass? You look like you could use one more than me." He didn't bring up their previous subject, but it was implied, nevertheless, hanging thick and heavy between them like a physical weight. And Gajeel wasn't up for a heart-to-heart on a good day.

He stomped out the butt of his own cigarette. "Nah," he said instead, far more civilised than he felt. "Got a meeting with the geezer."

Loke nodded. "Well, I'll be sticking around for a while, so look me up later. I'd also like to say hello to the missus, if she's up for it." He raised a hand in a parting gesture. "Take care, Gajeel."

Gajeel stuck his hands into his pockets. "Stay alive, Leo. Sniff what Cana offers you before ya down it. The juice joint ain't what it used to be."

"Noted," he retorted drolly, before turning around to walk away. Gajeel watched him go with a frown, before casting a glance up at the clock-tower overlooking the square. Fifteen minutes late. _A good a time as any. _

With a sigh he turned, heading towards the building Leo had come out of. Though his fortune had gone down the figurative drain, the old man still held his old offices, at least for the moment, though the place wasn't as busy as it had been a few years ago.

Sidestepping an assistant on his way out the front door, Gajeel made his way towards the reception. Stopping outside the door, he looked down at himself, and the neatly pressed suit Levy had all but forced on him when he'd left the house that morning. A relic of his old life, and it wasn't even one of his better ones.

Remembering the look on Leo's face when he'd talked about the Master, he grumbled to himself, before reaching down to tug his shirt partway out of his pants. The last time he'd seen the geezer, the man had aged a decade in a week. If he could get a good rise out of him, it'd be a welcome change to the sombreness. Hell, a simple reprimand would be enough. If things got any worse, Laxus would be taking over what little remained of the company before the end of the year.

Pushing through the double-doors, Gajeel stepped brusquely across the reception room towards the twin set of doors at the far end. "You're late," the redhead behind the desk remarked, without looking up from what she was doing, and Gajeel only raised a hand in vague greeting as he strode up to the doors. Knocking once, he didn't bother waiting for a reply before opening them and slipping inside.

From his perch on the mahogany desk, Laxus greeted him with a raised brow. "You're–"

"–_late._ I know_._" Ignoring the blonde, his eyes quickly found the other figure in the room, standing before the windows looking over the square, hands resting behind his back. "I had a chat with Leo," he addressed his old boss, crossing his arms over his chest.

Makarov said nothing, but turned his head to regard him. Gajeel raised a brow at the questioning look he received, as though Leo's sudden appearance wasn't suspicious as hell. "Any particular reason you called him over from Extalia?" he asked then. "'S a pretty long way for a social call."

Makarov shrugged. "Good thing it wasn't a social call." With a heavy sigh, he turned to walk over to the desk Laxus was occupying. With a sharp look at his grandson, he took a seat, and Laxus slipped off the desk without a word. Raising his eyes to Gajeel, Makarov made an effort to smile. "It's good to see you, my boy. It's been a while, even for you." The words were familiar, but spoken without the wry reprimand Gajeel was used to.

For once, though, he didn't bother making excuses. "I've had other things on my mind."

Makarov's look softened at that, and the tiredness was almost a tangible thing, clinging to his every move. "Yes, I heard. I am truly sorry. How is Levy doing these days?"

Gajeel tried not to grit his teeth, bone tired of the sympathy, but not blind to the old man's sincerity, so he reigned in his temper. "Better," he said simply. "It's been a year. People recover."

Makarov raised a brow. "From these sorts of things? Never fully." But he said nothing more on the matter, and Gajeel felt the relief like a physical thing. "But I didn't call you here for a chat, Gajeel."

Gajeel snorted. "I figured." It was almost like one of their usual rounds of verbal sparring. Almost, but not quite, for the old man's heart wasn't in it.

Makarov sighed. "I see the state of the economy hasn't affected your attitude," he muttered. "But I'll cut to the case. I am concerned about Minerva."

"Gemma's brat again? Thought we agreed she kept a clean business." Hell, it was more than anyone else did in this town, and as far as Gajeel knew, she had her eye on the prize fighting industry and little else. Her boys were good, too, he had to admit with a twinge of begrudging respect.

Makarov nodded. "So we did, and I was wholly convinced until quite recently." He looked towards Laxus, who handed Gajeel a sheet of paper.

Skimming over the contents, Gajeel felt his brows pull down in a frown as Laxus spoke, "I don't know what you've heard of rumours about popular boxers suddenly forfeiting their scheduled matches, but we found out what happened to some of them. Two were found dead – one floating in the river, another stashed head-first in a barrel at a local distillery. One's still reported missing, but going by the other two we've got an idea of what might have happened to him." The last bit was added with a touch of wryness, though the look on the blond man's face was dark.

Gajeel muttered, "And let me guess, the club they were due to fight against..."

Laxus nodded. "Sabertooth, for all three." He handed Gajeel another sheet. "We've also got our suspicions that some of the recent matches have been rigged. This still looking like a clean business to you?"

From his place at the desk, Makarov sighed. "It hasn't reached the papers yet because there's no evidence leading back to Minerva or Sabertooth. All we've got to go on is speculation, and that's not much."

Gajeel looked up from the papers. "And you're sure it's her? Shit doesn't make a lick of sense. She's already on top of the industry. Why use dirty tricks when you've already got the crown?"

Makarov shrugged. "Who knows how long she's been pulling the strings this way? Who knows if it's even her doing? _That_ is why I called you here."

Gajeel blinked. "'Scuse me?"

Laxus sighed, and stepped away from the desk. "The city is in shambles, but boxing still has an audience. It's not ideal, but to be frank, we haven't got much else to bet on right now. But it's no use betting what little money we've got if the whole game's rigged from the start."

Gajeel looked from Laxus to Makarov. "So you want me to do...what, exactly?"

"Find out who is pulling the strings. If it's Minerva or someone else, and put a stop to it. You've done jobs like this before."

Gajeel raised a brow. "And nearly gotten killed how many times?" He looked down at the paper again. "'Sides, I've put the gloves on the shelf."

"That's not what Lily tells me."

Gajeel's gaze sprung back up, and Makarov met it with a raised brow, as though daring him to contradict the claim. Gajeel glared back, but Laxus interrupted him before he could snap something particularly disrespectful. "Lily said you've been taking on small game once in a while."

Gajeel shot him a look. "Just puttin' food on the table. Don't go getting any ideas."

"Work with Lily on this, and you'll do more than put food on the table," Makarov said then, drawing Gajeel's gaze. "This isn't just about boxing, Gajeel. There's a bigger picture. We'll make the city great again."

"So what, you want back on the throne, and you think a few rounds in the ring will do it?" he raised a disbelieving brow. "You been drinkin' that rotgut Cana's sellin', old man?"

Makarov didn't flinch. "There is a way to save this town, Gajeel. To drag it back out of the dirt. Will you just sit on the sidelines? Or will you help do something about it?" he asked, and now his voice had a distinct bite to it.

But Gajeel was quick to retaliate. "Hey, don't act like I haven't done _everything_ you've ever asked of me! Like I haven't given my fucking' _life_ for your schemes already. Who the hell put his neck on the line so you could get rid of your lunatic brat, huh? Now you're telling me I've got to drop everything because you want to be king again?" He scoffed. "Not fucking happening. Find some other willing cannon fodder for your power-trip, gramps."

"This is not about _power_, Gajeel–" Laxus cut in.

He levelled the blonde man with a sharp look. "The hell it ain't! It's _always_ about power! Every damn time, and I'm sick of being your go-to-guy when you need something cleaned up." He slapped the papers back down onto the desk._ "Find someone else."_

Makarov sighed. "Gajeel–"

"Think about it," Laxus cut him off, stepping between them. "Take some time, mull it over, talk to Lil if you have to. It's not just our necks on the line here." He levelled Gajeel with a look that spoke volumes about the severity of the situation. "I know it's a lot to ask, but we _are_ asking, regardless."

Gajeel glared at him, but his anger had lost some of its fuel, and so he kept himself from yelling something obscene. "_Fine_," he bit out. "I'll think about it. Ya happy now?"

Makarov looked anything but, but he nodded regardless. "That is all I ask, Gajeel. You can go see Lily about the details, if you wish. He's neck deep in it as we speak."

Gajeel said nothing to that, but stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from socking one of them. "That all?" he growled.

Makarov nodded, and Gajeel turned on his heel, eager to get out of the stifling office, if only to think clearly. The decorative tapestries and fine furniture – those that hadn't been sold already – made him itch, and he felt the need for some air to clear his head before he did something reckless. The conversation with Leo was also fresh in his mind, and the rudely awakened grief clung like a ghost to his every thought.

There was no voice shouting after him to tuck in his shirt, and it only made him pick up his pace, passing the reception without even looking at Flare, but the redhead didn't call after him. They were civil on a good day, but there hadn't been many of those in a good long while.

Pushing past the doors to the outside, he made a sharp turn in the direction of the gym that had been a home-away-from home when he'd been a kid, and again in the months after he'd lost his own brat. Lil had been understanding enough – or wise enough to leave him to his own grief without asking too many questions. And it had kept his wife from worrying about where he got off to at night, although he was far from proud of fleeing the house in the first place.

His feet took him down familiar streets and alleyways, ones he'd walked enough times to know them with his eyes closed, and he'd reached the gym by the time the sun had finally dipped down below the rooftops. It had never been a very nice neighbourhood to begin with, but the events of the past year had taken its toll on the poor more than it had the rich, and so the already poverty-ridden parts of Magnolia had gone from bad to almost uninhabitable. He'd spent most of his early adolescence on the streets, but it had never been this bad for him. With so many people out of their homes most of the Alley's available nooks and crannies were occupied, and he found his gaze lingering on the sooth-smudged kids playing in the gutters across the road from the gym. Kids that would most likely go to sleep in the same gutters come nightfall.

Hands clenched tightly in his pockets, Gajeel turned his eyes away as he made for The Pit, eager to get away from the festering wound Magnolia had become. He'd never felt privileged until now, and the feeling crawled beneath his skin like an unnatural thing. The muted murmurs of the destitute souls behind him followed at his heels all the way down the stairs to the gym, and he couldn't get inside quickly enough.

As usual, the smell met him before anything else, and he stopped in the open doorway, taking a moment to simply enjoy the fact that not everything in Magnolia had gone to hell with the stock market crash. It was sweat and grime and familiar and _unspoiled_ and damn it if it wasn't the best he'd felt in fucking weeks. He didn't realise he'd been standing there a good long while until a voice as familiar as the place itself spoke up and dragged him back from wherever his thoughts had gone.

"You going to loiter in my doorway all day or are you going to come inside? This ain't a peep show, you know."

Opening his eyes, Gajeel watched Lily take a seat at the edge of the raised dais, wiping his brow with a towel. He snorted as he took in the state of his old friend. "You been doin' your stretches, grandpa?"

A grin touched the man's scarred face. "Unlike someone, I'm keeping my skills sharp," he quipped, as he set to unwrapping the bandages from his hands. "Haven't seen you in here since the fight last month. You back for more?" He raised a brow in question as he reached down towards the bucket of water at his side to soak the towel.

Gajeel stepped fully inside, hands stuffed in his pockets as he cast a glance around the run-down gym. The fact that it was one of the more prosperous clubs in the city wasn't evident from the state of the place, that was for sure. But Lily was doing well.

Well, _better_ than most, and that wasn't much with the city in its current state of economic ruin.

"Not exactly," he said, shooting his old friend a sharp look. "Heard you've been chatting with the old geezer."

Lily shrugged, clearly not intending to pretend otherwise. "I might have stopped by once or twice."

Gajeel glared, miffed for some reason that this wasn't just another scheme of Makarov's, but Lily, too. "You making deals with the high hats now, Lil?" He wondered for a moment why the man hadn't just come to him in the first place, if he was the one really gunning to take Minerva down. Going through the old man seemed excessive for Lily, considering their long friendship.

Lily leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "If that's what it takes. I could use the help, you know."

"Not from me."

"From who, then?" he tilted his head, and Gajeel suddenly felt fifteen again, standing in the same doorway, asking for a place to train.

"Someone else. I've got my plate full already."

Lily snorted. "Bullshit. You come here asking for fights when it suits you. I've seen you with your plate full, Gajeel, and this ain't it. This town is a sinking ship. You gonna sink with it, or are you gonna help ladle the water with the rest of us?"

Gajeel glared. "And you think a few successful rounds in the ring's gonna do it?" What was happening with the sudden faith in prize fighting? Had he missed something vital, or were they all just that desperate?

Lily shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But if there's an industry to gamble on right now, it's boxing. But it's no use betting on a club that's second-best."

"And what, that's you?"

Lily nodded. "Sabertooth's got the best boxers in the business. Hell, you know that better than most. But you've also beaten them once."

"_Five_ years ago, and if you think I was in bad shape then you don't want to pitch me against those brats _now_," he snapped.

Lily raised a brow, clearly not convinced. "I think you fought and won with a fresh gunshot wound, and don't even try to pretend you've got rusty skills. You were in here just last month and you nearly put Fullbuster out of commission."

Gajeel grumbled. "Fella was askin' for it."

"Yeah? Well Minerva's boys ain't asking, just _taking._ And if the rumours are true..."

"What, the murders and the rigged matches?"

Lily nodded, and something dark flickered across his gaze. "Hasn't been one of my brats yet, but I ain't about to wait for that to happen."

Gajeel paced towards the ring, scrubbing a hand down his face. "So ya want me ta take on a club that may or may not be fighting dirty, so the old man can retake his throne from the Sabertooth queen and have this thrice-damned dust-bowl back under his rule?"

Lily snorted. "A bit melodramatic, but yeah, pretty much."

Gajeel glared at the flickering lights overhead, mulling over the turn of events, and his unfortunate place in the middle of everything – _again._ "You think it's really her doin'?"

Lily sighed. "Honestly? No. I've been in the business a long time, and she's got no reason to resort to dirty schemes. Her boys are more than good enough to keep her on the 'throne', as you put it. It doesn't really add up."

"Then who?"

Lily wiped the towel over his face, then let it drop back into the bucket. "Your guess is as good as mine, Gajeel. If it's not Sabertooth, someone certainty wants to make us think so. It's the _why_ I can't figure out." His brows furrowed sharply then, tugging at the characteristic scar that made him look meaner than he really was. "And I'm not planning on sitting on my hands until one of mine end up dead in an alley somewhere."

Gajeel rubbed at his temples. "So...what? I pose as bait or something? Do well enough in the ring to make someone want me removed?"

Lily shrugged. "That's one way of going about it. You're more than capable of protecting yourself if someone comes after you. And that way we'd know who's behind the murders, at least."

"And Shorty?" Gajeel asked then. "What if they go through her to get to me? I've been down that road before, Lil, and I'm not about to make a return trip," he growled.

Lily pressed his lips together, and his gaze flickered to the gloves hanging around one of the supporting poles on the dais. "You don't think I know it's a lot to ask? I've got Charle to think about now. My position isn't nearly as insignificant as I'd like, but it's too late to do anything about that now. All I can do is make sure she can take care of herself." The _if something were to happen _was about as unmissable as an ugly stain, and Gajeel felt the weight of the words settle like a familiar mantle on his shoulders.

A small smile tugged at Lily's mouth then. "Erza's been teaching her a few tricks. Thought it could come in handy."

Gajeel raised a brow at that. "You want me to bring Levy in for a round in the ring with Red? Seriously?"

Lily shrugged. "Why not? You taught her to shoot."

Gajeel closed his eyes, wondering how things had managed to go from bad to worse to fucking cataclysmic in such a short time. At least yesterday he hadn't had to deal with the thought of trigger men coming after his wife, not to mention the whole bloody circus that prize fighting had turned into since his glory days in the ring.

"I am getting too damn old for this shit."

Lily guffawed. "Boy, you are two decades too young to be saying that." He shook his head with a snort. "Old, my ass."

Gajeel smirked despite himself. "I can't believe I'm saying yes to this," he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

Lily rose to his feet. "I'd say you won't regret it, but I'm not really in a position to guarantee that."

Gajeel accepted the outstretched hand, and clapped his old friend on the back, perhaps a little harder than necessary, but Lily only grinned at the gesture. "At least you're honest," he grumbled.

Lily threw an arm around his shoulders. "Honesty is my policy, old friend. Now, get out of that stuffy suit and we'll see what you've got, hmm? See if you're good enough to knock me out."

"Shaddup, gramps, or I'll put _you_ out of commission."

Lily's gruff laughter bounced off the rusted walls of The Pit, and Gajeel wondered idly if it wasn't the first genuine one he'd heard in a year. "Kid, don't make me get serious about this. You know it'll only end bad for you."

"Then I'm taking you down with me, old man," he retorted, and smirked despite the fact that the whole exchange was too damn sinister for his liking, even if he'd never been much for superstition. He ignored the itch between his shoulder-blades as he headed for the lockers, but the thought lurked at the back of his mind as he made to change out of his suit.

_You know it'll only end bad for you._

* * *

It was dark by the time he made his way home from the gym, mildly bruised but feeling better than he had in days, even despite accepting Lily's offer. Now all that remained was explaining to his wife that her life might very well be in genuine danger in the near future, and that she might want to dust off the peashooter she kept tucked away in her drawer. She hadn't allowed weapons of any kind in plain sight while she'd been pregnant, as if the sight of them alone had posed a threat to the brat.

Gajeel glared into the nothingness, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. It didn't matter how much you prepared in the end; death had a way of finding loopholes in the best defences. The hag had speculated that it might have been the stress that had done it, but obsessing over the cause was nothing but a trip for biscuits. There was no use pointing fingers when there'd be nothing to gain from it. The kid was dead no matter what was to blame.

The dark thoughts followed him like the shadows clinging to the rust-coloured bricks walls, reminding him more vividly than even the city falling apart around him, that the glamorous age of jazz and free flowing liquor was long gone. The life he'd thought he'd have – the one he'd thought he'd _had_, a short year ago – was little more than a pipe-dream now. The memory of a rounded belly and the god-forsaken empty crib he didn't have the fucking heart to throw out of the nursery his wife avoided like the plague.

With a harsh exhale, he picked up his pace, heading towards the mouth of the alley that wound its way into the small corner of Magnolia they'd made theirs years ago, a determination in his step that he didn't quite feel like he had yet, but that he couldn't go home without. Because life was still life, and if either one of them gave up he didn't think the other would make it very far. They'd go down with the ship, as Lily had put it.

But Magnolia wasn't lost yet, even he could see that, pessimistic or not. And if there was one thing he was good at, it was refusing to simply lay down and give up. Makarov wanted his city back, Lily wanted a prize fighter, and Gajeel just wanted some goddamned peace. And if getting that meant rolling up his sleeves and getting back into the business, then his choice was pretty simple, wasn't it?

But that was all tomorrow, and the city could damn well hold on for one more night. For a few more hours at least he still had his freedom, and he wasn't going to spend it wallowing in his own grief in the shadows.

He was going home.

* * *

Keen eyes followed the dark shape as it stalked down the alleyway, before disappearing around the corner leading to one of Magnolia's less-than-prosperous neighbourhoods, although to be fair pretty much the whole town went under that description these days. The shadows provided little light to see, but he'd spent enough years in the dark to not be overly bothered by it.

"He carries a lot of tension in his shoulders," a voice mused from somewhere over his right shoulder. "He's bringing home bad news. I'm guessing the meeting didn't go well."

"You always were one for stating the obvious," he retorted with a snort, eyes still skimming the darkness ahead of them.

Movement told him she was shrugging. "Well, with you for a partner, one has to fill the silence somehow." As always, she didn't miss a beat, and the wry retort fell as easy now as it had the first time they'd met, well over two decades ago.

A moment of said silence passed between them, and he felt more than saw her step up beside him. He heard her draw a deep breath, before exhaling like she was expelling something noxious. "Something bad is brewing in this town."

"Again with the obvious."

A light smack against his shoulder had him smirking despite himself. "You smirk, but you can't _feel_ it. If you could, you'd be swallowing that grin."

He sighed, but bit back his snappy remark. He knew she sensed things others couldn't, and he'd teased her about it more than once in their long partnership, but he'd be kidding himself if he said it was a useless ability. It had gotten them out of practically every bad situation he'd gotten them into, after all.

"So he's here then? The trail wasn't a dead-end this time?" he asked gruffly, casting a weary glance around the empty street. In all his years living in it, Magnolia had never been much of a ghost town. It had always had...too much _flair_ for that. But the Depression had hit harder than he'd thought.

An ominous gust of wind had an old newspaper sticking to the leg of his pants, and he bent down to remove it, glancing briefly at the front page declaring some blonde haired brat the winner of a big match that had taken place the night before, though by the glare on the kid's face, you wouldn't guess it. He snorted, throwing the crumbled paper to the cobblestones.

After what was almost a dramatically long pause, which he was almost tempted to break by asking if she'd fallen asleep, she exhaled suddenly, harshly, before speaking, "Yes. He's here."

He nodded, a grin curling along his lips. "About damn time we had some luck thrown our way. I've had it with following false trails."

"Don't count your winnings yet, my friend. This is far from over."

He rolled his eyes. "And the prize for the most ominous remark of the year goes to..."

Another slap, this time across the back of his head, but he only smirked at her ire. "I swear, I'll find your corpse grinning when the day comes," she muttered.

"I'll hold you to that bet, you know."

He could almost _feel_ her rolling her eyes. "And who's going to collect? Your ghost?"

He shrugged. "I've got a will stashed somewhere...I think." He scratched the back of his head. "Hell if I remember, but the brat will get it, anyhow. And soon, probably. I've been due for a few years now."

"Optimistic, as usual."

"Hey, I'm a realist. Always have been, always will be."

"And yet you've survived this long. Miracles never cease."

He grumbled. "Shaddup. I've got you to look on the bright side of things."

"As well as keeping your ass out of the line of fire, making sure you don't drink yourself to death, or that you don't choke on your own vomit when you _do_..." she ticked off her fingers idly.

He waved her off as he turned to walk back down the alleyway. "Yeah, yeah, and I owe you my life and then some_._ Ya happy now?"

When she didn't immediately follow, he stopped, and turned back to look at her. Standing at the mouth of the alley, features mostly hidden by the shadows, he was struck by how easy it was to forget how old they were getting, and how long they'd been doing this shit. She stepped towards him then, and he caught sight of her hair, white coated silver in the dark, as well as the expressive wrinkles lining the sides of her eyes. A testament to a life of smiles, though how she'd kept _that_ up was and would forever be beyond him.

"This will be our last stop," she said then, though there was nothing pessimistic about the way she said it. It was a simple statement of fact. "The end of the road. I can feel it."

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the kinks. _Ah, yes,_ definitely getting old, but there wasn't much to be done about that, now was there? They still had a job to do. "Well, then, we better make it a good run," he declared as he let a grin touch his lips, maroon eyes meeting those of his long-time partner. "Waddaya say, Grandine?" he asked, the grin stretching wide across his face, teeth glinting white in the dim moonlight.

"Time to crash this funeral party."

* * *

AN: So this one's a bit grimier than the one before, but I hope you'll enjoy it just as much. As you've no doubt picked up on, there'll be some new (but not entirely unfamiliar, for those of you who've read my other works) faces, as well as a slew of (you guessed it) cliffhangers and historic slang. Buckle up, folks, because it's looking to be a long ride. Also, please drop a note saying what you think so far! Feedback fuels the forges and whatnot.

**flivver**: car

**snipe**: cigarette

**rotgut**: Prohibition alcohol, usually made in back rooms and of low quality

**trigger men**: hired guns

**trip for biscuits**: a task that yields nothing


	2. The Sum of Our Parts

AN: Second chapter, better late than never. Thank you so much to everyone who've read and left feedback on the first! It _is_ a very different setting and mood than Hard Liquor, but I'm glad so many are intrigued despite the dirt and the grime. I hope you enjoy the continuation! Now, let's see how Levy is doing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter II**

"_Pregnant_?"

Porlyusica raised an amused brow from where she stood leaning against her desk. "That's what I said. Ya need me ta run that by you again?"

Levy didn't answer, only stared at the older woman. She'd come in for a check up because she'd been feeling ill for a few days, but...

"Pregnant?" she mumbled to herself, hand drifting over her stomach. There wasn't even a noticeable swelling, but then food had been scarce and she hadn't been eating as well as she'd used to. She'd thought her weight was the cause behind her missed monthly bleedings, too.

Sweat broke out across her palms as the full weight of the realization descended upon her shoulders. She should have known – she'd been through it all once before so something _should_ have tipped her off. But she hadn't even thought about it – hadn't considered the possibility that there would, or _could,_ be another one. The last year had been about coping, about making it from one day to the next and keeping her head above water, and she'd just started finding her way _back..._She wasn't prepared for it...this. Not now, with the way things were. Her last pregnancy had done a number on her, but at least then she'd still had plenty of nutritious food to eat. Now...now they were barely feeding themselves as it was.

And considering what had happened last time, during ideal circumstances...

Her reaction must have worried the usually stoic doctor, because the next thing she knew, there were gnarled hands gripping hers, and she looked up to see Porlyusica kneeling before her. "_Breathe_," she instructed, and Levy drew a starved breath, startled to realize she'd been holding it. When she exhaled, the older woman patted her hands. "Good girl. Now," she rose, and went back to her desk. "You've been through this once before, so you know the specifics." She cast a glance over her shoulder, perhaps to make sure Levy hadn't completely broken down. "You ready to hear this, or d'ya need a moment?" It was a rare display of sympathy from a woman who usually slapped her patients upside the head.

Part of her wanted to say _yes,_ she was ready to hear this, was ready to do it because what else could she do? But as she met the old doctor's sharp gaze, she didn't know if she could even accept it. Her last pregnancy...the _loss_ had carved her completely hollow, and she didn't think she'd ever have the strength to try again. Not after last time. She didn't think she could handle it again, carrying it to full term only to realize...

"Hey!"

She snapped out of her thoughts, to find Porlyusica proffering a handkerchief at her, and she noticed with a start that her cheeks were wet. "Thank you," she mumbled, accepting the piece of cloth.

Porlyusica sighed. "Girl," she began, taking a seat beside her, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can tell what yer thinkin', and it's not gonna do ya any good if this is what yer gonna be focusing on for the next few months."

Levy shook her head, voice wavering, "I know that, I just...I _can't_–" she stopped herself, before a sob tore its way from her throat, and she buckled forward.

It was testament to how long it had been since she'd cried – since she'd felt anything other than numbness – by the _relief_ that accompanied it. She'd begun to worry the hollowness was going to be there forever, that she was never going to _feel_ anything again, even fear and sorrow.

But the fear was real, and she felt every cold inch of it as she came to terms with her condition, and everything it entailed. All the things that could go wrong, that had gone wrong, once. Her shoulders shook as she wept, and Porlyusica let her, placing a hand on her back in silent support. She'd been there throughout her last pregnancy, from the very beginning and through months of planning and excitement; she'd been there for every check-up and every question Levy had been able to think of. And she'd been there on _that day_ – the one she couldn't think about without feeling sick to her stomach.

And now she'd had to face it again...all those months, wondering and worrying where she'd once been all excitement and eager anticipation. Just the thought that it could go wrong again had her scared out of her wits.

The hand rubbed circles on her back until her sobs had subsided, and she was left feeling heavy and lethargic. Nausea roiled in her stomach, but she pushed the feeling back, and tried to clear her head enough to think straight. She registered that Porlyusica left to ask Wendy to make some tea, and by the time the older woman came back with a tray and a steaming pot, she'd calmed down somewhat.

A warm cup was placed into her hands without preamble, and the older woman ordered her to drink. "I'll do ya good," she grumbled, as she placed the teapot on her desk. Next thing she knew, there was a tray of biscuits pushed under her nose. She looked up in surprise.

The older woman shrugged. "A small luxury these days. Now _eat._ Yer too skinny as it is." The mention of her current weight hit a little too close to home, but she diligently accepted a biscuit to much on, and Porlyusica went about tidying up as she ate in silence.

"I don't think I can do this," she said then after a heavy lull, fingers tightening around the cup in her hand.

The old medic turned towards her, scowl firmly in place. "Not with that attitude you won't," she snapped. "You just gonna give up then? Throw in the towel without a fight?"

Levy bristled at the tone, but part of her – the part that so vividly remembered a lifeless little shape fit snugly into the crook of her arm – shied away at the mention of fighting. She _had_ fought. She just didn't think she had another one in her.

Porlyusica sighed, and leaned back against the desk, arms crossed over her chest. "I know it's hard. It feels like yer never going to feel _fine_ again. That yer just going from day to day because that's what yer _supposed_ to do, because yer body hasn't caught up with yer mind yet, and doesn't know yer finished."

She looked up in surprise at that, and Porlyusica met her gaze squarely with her own. "I lost a child, too. Long time ago now," she said gruffly, but the words were laden. An old hurt, suddenly brought into the open. She nodded towards the other room, behind the closed door Levy knew Wendy was. "The kid was a blessing I wasn't prepared for. It doesn't make the pain go away, and she ain't replaced what I lost," she continued, "but she's been an ounce of good in a world that's gone to hell, and I'm glad fer it."

Levy traced the rim of the cup with a fingertip. "How did Wendy's mother die?" she asked, then winced, "If...if I may ask."

Porlyusica snorted. "You may, but I don't have ta answer." At Levy's questioning look, she sighed. "My sister ain't a topic I like discussing. The kid's doing alright, despite everythin', so let's just leave it at that, hmm?" Something passed over her face then – an expression Levy couldn't read. There was more there, definitely – an idiot could see that. But whatever it was, she wasn't going to talk about it. And knowing Porlyusica, as she did now after five years, there was very little that could make her choose to but herself.

"Alright," she replied, choosing not to push the subject any further, although she made a note to ask Cana about it. For all her sharp edges and harsh demeanour, the old doctor was kinder to her adopted daughter than to anyone else, to the point where Levy almost forgot Wendy was adopted. But no one ever spoke of her sister save Wendy herself, and then only with very few words.

It reminded her a little of how Gajeel spoke of his father, and it left her wondering if there wasn't perhaps more to it than what they let people think. From what Lucy had told her, Natsu's father had been old money before he'd died, a fact that very few were aware of, even now. But when asked about it, Natsu was open about it, which couldn't be said for Gajeel. But knowing her husband as well as she did, she'd long since chosen to let the matter go. There were more important things to think about than old family wounds.

Like their own family, which was now about to get a new addition.

She placed her hand over her stomach, wondering at the difference between the first time she'd been told she was pregnant, and now. Back then she'd been so excited she'd barely been able to sit still. Now she couldn't even make herself get off the examination table.

"Overthinkin' it ain't gonna make it any easier ta bear," Porlyusica cut in then, and Levy looked up to meet her gaze. The older woman regarded her seriously. "I'm not saying yer not gonna keep it in mind; there might be complications with this pregnancy as well." At Levy's panicked look, she cut in. "There _might,_" she emphasised, "But there doesn't have to be. Ya need to take care of yerself, and come in for check-ups more often. Eat more, rest, and get that husband of yours to take care of the housework once in a while. Ya _can_ do this," she said, "But yer gonna have ta _want_ to."

Levy looked down into her empty cup, and the tea leaves a dark puddle at the bottom, seeming to swallow her up. It wasn't the right time for a child; they could barely put enough food on the table as it was, and with the place they were living in now...and the state of the city, the economy...

It was the _worst_ time to have a child, but for the life of her, and despite the terror that had seized hold of her in a grip cold as death, a part of her – the part that _remembered_ the little form fit snugly into the crook of her arm before he'd been taken away – was unable to regret it...the new little life she couldn't forsake just because she couldn't forgive herself for her loss. She didn't know how to make herself go through it again, knowing now what the outcome might well be, but she couldn't make herself _not_ want to.

Fingers curling around the cup, she tore her gaze away from the sight of the tea-leaves. With a deep breath, she let herself calm down enough to think rationally. "I do want to do this."

Porlyusica nodded. "Atta girl." Pushing away from the desk, she went to take the cup from Levy to put away. "Now, you're not very far along, but as far as I can tell, yer doing well, and there's no cause for concern." She shot Levy a sharp look. "But if ya feel anything out of the ordinary, come see me right away."

Levy nodded, but the motion felt mechanical. "Yeah."

The doctor glared down at her. "And remind that husband of yours that you're going to need _rest_. And to eat better than yer doin' now." She turned towards the door, yelling into the kitchen, "Kid!"

A moment later, a dark head of hair appeared in the doorway with a grin. "Yes, ma'am!"

Porlyusica handed her a note she'd scribbled earlier, and nodded towards Levy. "Run out ta get these for me," she instructed. The dark haired girl glanced at the note, and then at Levy, eyes wide, no doubt recognizing some of the items on the list. Levy felt sick again, but Wendy didn't say anything, only offered a kind smile before she as gone.

"Kid'll keep quiet," Porlyusica said then, drawing her attention. "If ya want to keep it under wraps for now."

Levy nodded. "I think...that's for the best," she said, wringing her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. "Am...am I a bad person for hoping that if something does go wrong...it does so now, and not later?" She dropped her gaze to her lap. "I just...I don't think I'll get through it this time, if...if this one's..." she couldn't even bring herself to say it, the word that had haunted her for so long. _Stillborn._

"You've been hurt. Yer scared. That don't make you a bad person. It makes ya _human_," Porlyusica said, as she set about clearing away the tea. "And ain't no need ta be ashamed of that."

Levy wiped at her eyes, releasing a shuddering breath. "How did you move on?" she asked then. "How did you go back to...to _living_?"

She knew it was bold – the woman never shared anything of this sort unless she took the initiative herself.

Porlyusica snorted as she wiped her hands on her apron. "Ya never really move on. Not entirely. The pain's still there, but it's a scar now, not an open wound. You gotta let it heal, however long it takes. But that don't mean yer not allowed ta live, girl. This new kid's comin' whether yer ready or not."

Levy clenched her hands in her lap. "It is, isn't it?" she said, almost to herself. It wasn't just something she could ignore, no matter how fresh the hurt still felt. She'd been a mother only for a moment, but she knew the feeling; the phantom pain of a limb she felt like she was missing. But she didn't have the right to excuse herself from the task that scared the life out of her just because she'd been hurt. Her son would always be her son, even if she had never gotten to know him. And now she had another child that needed her. Giving up wasn't really an option.

She drew a breath. "I'm going to do this," she announced then.

Porlyusica nodded. "This ain't just about _you_ anymore. There's another life at stake here. If yer ever in doubt, remember _that_."

Levy nodded. She'd long been feeling like she wasn't in control of her own life – like she was dancing on someone else's strings like a puppet, being pulled with the tide without anything to hold on to. Losing her child had thrown everything into chaos, and now they were having another, bringing it into a world where they couldn't be sure they'd have a roof over their heads the following month. But the older woman had a point; it wasn't just about her, and _that_ gave her something to cling to – a deep-rooted conviction in a sea of forever changing currents. And with the future being such an uncertainty, where a thousand things were out of her control, she _needed_ something to believe in.

Because for now, having faith was the only thing she could do.

* * *

She was over halfway home when she realized she would have to break the news to Gajeel.

Stopping in her tracks, Levy steeled herself. For as well as she knew her husband, she had no inkling as to how he'd react to this piece of news. The first time had been easy – they'd been trying, and it had been expected. Now...now she had no idea. He'd taken their son's death hard; for all his bluster about not wanting a gaggle of children, she knew he'd been looking forward to it, the excitement visible in the crib he'd built himself, sitting alone in a nursery she hadn't set foot in since before the birth. And the carefully crafted trinkets and baubles in the bottom of the kitchen-drawer that she'd kept without his knowledge, after he'd thrown them out. Meant of a son that would never use them.

Her palms felt clammy, and she tightened her grip around the purse in her hands, determined not to let herself be intimidated by the grief that still clung to their home like a fog; that permeated every nook and cranny of the place. It clung to them, too – an unspoken sorrow between them that shouldn't rightfully be between two who'd been married less than five years.

Taking a deep breath, she resumed her walk down the street. The setting sun cast her shadow large across the cobblestones, and she focused her attention on the shifting of the light behind her as her feet took her down streets she knew by heart. It was odd thinking about how foreign her own city had been to her just a few years ago, where now she knew it like the back of her hand, the back streets as well as the high streets. Although with the current state of affairs, there wasn't much difference between the two. People took refuge where they could find it these days – she was lucky she still had a roof over her head.

Passing by a young mother with a small child on her arm, the soot smudges on her cheeks and the state of her dress evidence of life on the streets, Levy wondered idly what kind of world they were bringing their child into. Would that be her in a few years, sleeping where she could find space and watching her child play in the gutters? Would it have been her, now, if they hadn't lost their little boy?

The thought made her feel ill, and she picked up her pace, eager to get home under her own roof. She needed to breathe, and to think. Gajeel was supposed to be meeting with Makarov, so he probably wasn't home yet, which would give her some time to gather her wits and make a plan. Because if she allowed herself time to dwell on what was happening, she might just lose all the control she'd managed to gather before leaving Porlyusica's.

Squaring her shoulders, she fished out her key as she came around the corner to where their home lay, snug at the end of a back-street, with a sturdy door that creaked open with a familiar whine as she let herself inside. It was a far cry from what she'd once been used to, but the new world that was slowly rising out of the dirt hadn't left them with much, and so they'd taken what they'd been given. It was more than most in Magnolia, anyway. Makarov had taken care of his own the best he'd could, but times were hard even for the richest man in the city. The state of his once prestigious speakeasy was proof enough of that.

Locking the door behind her, she shrugged out of her coat and removed her hat, and she'd taken a full two steps into the living area when she became aware that she wasn't alone.

An instinct born of five years with a perpetually suspicious husband had her first thought go to the small gun in the drawer of the table where she'd just discarded her hat, but she hadn't gotten to take a single step towards it before a voice rooted her in her tracks.

"If you're thinking about going for the pea-shooter in the drawer, you can spare yourself the trouble."

With only one window and no lamps lit, the room was mostly shrouded in shadows, but she caught the glint from what she recognized as her own gun as the intruder held it up to catch the sliver of late afternoon light from outside. With the light at his back – for it was a man – she couldn't discern his features, other than that he was tall and dressed mostly in black.

"Well aren't you cute as a bug's ear," he spoke then, and she bristled at the description.

"Who are you?" she asked firmly, as she focused on keeping herself calm and her breath even. It wouldn't do her any good to panic now – stress and anxiety, she'd learned the hard way, was not good for the child. The thought crept up her spine like a shiver, and she had to fight to keep herself upright.

She caught sight of a familiar grin in the darkness, but the thought was gone as soon as it had appeared when he spoke, "An interested party. Nothing you should worry about."

Her brows furrowed. She'd had her fair share of being kept out of the loop, and was damn sick and tired of it. "Then what are you doing in my home?" she ground out. "If you'll so kindly explain _that_."

The stranger chuckled, the sound a deep rumble in the darkness. "Such backbone for such a little lady," he mused. "Colour me surprised."

Levy glared. "_What_–"

"Easy," the stranger cut her off. "Don't blow your wig. I'm not here to cause trouble." And she was damned if she didn't hear an actual trace of _apology_ in that tone. But that didn't mean she was about to just let a stranger break into her home and get away with it.

"There will _be_ trouble if you don't explain yourself," she snapped. "S I'd advise you to _talk._"

"You are aware that I am the one with the weapon here?" he asked, voice a low thrum of wry humour, but Levy refused to back down. If she did, and stopped to actually _think_ about what she was doing, she would lose her nerve. And she'd rather have some semblance of authority than cower in the corner like a helpless doll. And if he'd truly been out to rob or kill them, he would have shot her by now.

The thought was oddly morbid for her, but it was what helped keep her calm, and so she latched onto it with whatever little strength she had. She'd been through enough of these kinds of scenarios to know when she was being genuinely threatened, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

It was hard to tell if he was impressed by her boldness, or just unwilling to argue further. "Would you believe me if I said I was simply looking out for your husband?"

She frowned. "Gajeel? The last time I checked, he didn't need anyone looking out for him." Her brows furrowed further. "Unless you know something I don't."

She caught the movement of a smirk through the dark. "Oh, I know a lot of things you don't, little one."

She glared. "I don't appreciate being patronized."

He chuckled. "As is more than evident," he retorted. "I can see why you caught Gajeel's eye."

"You're a friend of his then?" she asked, inching slightly towards the kitchen. If she kept him talking, maybe she could make a dash for a knife before he had a chance to catch her.

"Not quite. Like I said, I'm an interested party."

Another inch. "Yeah? Interested in what, exactly?"

He tilted his head, and she made note of the fact that he had long hair, gathered at the nape of his neck. And from what she could tell in the dark now that her eyes had adjusted somewhat, a sharp chin covered in a trimmed beard.

He flicked his eyes towards the kitchen, and she cursed inwardly. "I can tell what you're planning," he deadpanned. "For all your bluster your stealth leaves something to be desired," he mused. "But to answer your question, I'm interested in _you._"

She righted her spine, suddenly alert, but there was nothing leering about the remark. If anything, it was just statement of fact. "Somehow, I'm having a hard time believing that."

There was the grin again – a flash in the darkness, a ghost that tickled her mind but that she couldn't quite reach. "I don't blame you for it. The current state of this shitty town requires a healthy dose of distrust. But," he continued. "_I'm_ not the one you need to worry about."

"And I'm just supposed to take the word of the man who broke into my home?"

He chuckled. "Ah, about that – _you_ weren't supposed to be home yet," he pointed out.

She blinked. "And that makes a difference _how_? You still broke in!"

"To ensure that the place was _safe_," he cut in. "Tell me, little one, do you know what's going on in Magnolia as we speak?"

She glared at the use of the endearment – the last one to have thrown condescending names like that her way had been Ivan, and although the stranger before her wasn't making her skin crawl, it still irked her. "If you're talking about the state of the economy, I don't know how I could have possibly missed it," she ground out.

A quirk of the lips met her words. "Touché, but that was not what I was referring to. So let me ask you this – when was the last time your husband was in the ring? I've heard he's a bit of a name around these parts."

Levy frowned at the abrupt change in subject. "Not in the last month. Why?"

"Because things are about to become complicated. And I've a feeling your husband is going to find himself, oh, smack right in the middle of things." He toyed with the weapon in his hand. "Boxing has become a dangerous sport. More so than usual. If you've read this week's papers you will have noticed a few...incidents."

Levy thought back to the reported deaths, but had to confess she hadn't thought much about them. There hadn't been anything connecting them to the prize-fighting industry. They hadn't even revealed the identities yet, although from what the man before her was implying, they were boxers. "But Gajeel isn't even employed regularly," she said, worry suddenly crawling over her skin at his silent suggestion.

"Not yet," the stranger agreed. "But I've reason to believe he will, soon." His eyes flickered to her stomach. "I hear congratulations are in order."

Her hand flew to her belly instinctively, and she stared at the shadowed shape before her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and every instinct in her body told her to make a run for it. "How did you know?" she asked, voice wavering despite herself. How could he possibly know, when she'd only just found out herself? _She wasn't even showing. _

He shrugged. "Like I said, I'm an interested party. I have my sources in this town. It's partly why I stopped by," he said. "You'll have to be careful from here on out."

She shook her head. "I don't–" she stopped, swallowing down the fear that had lodged itself in the base of her throat. "Would you just tell me why? Why do I have to be careful? Why would _Gajeel_ need looking after?"

The words had barely left her tongue when he suddenly _moved_, and she didn't have the chance to react before she felt a strong hand clamping down on her shoulder. "All in good time," he said. "But right now you should get some rest. You've got a brat to think about, after all."

"Hey! What–"

"Goodnight, little one."

A touch at the back of her neck, and she was gone.

* * *

"Shorty. _Hey._"

When she finally came to, she was on her back on the couch and her husband was looking down at her. She blinked. "Huh?"

Gajeel smirked, and something brushed against her memory at the sight, but it was gone before she was able to catch it. "Good nap?" he rumbled, a rare trace of humour in his voice that she hadn't heard in a long time.

Pushing herself up, Levy rubbed at her eyes, and grimaced at the trace of saliva on her chin. "Uh, yeah." _What happened? _"I–"

And then she remembered. The stranger in the living room – the cryptic words and the subtle warning; the revelation _(_"_I hear congratulations are in order."_ _). _The sudden pressure at the back of her neck.

She felt a hand against her forehead, and snapped out of her thoughts to see Gajeel's brow furrow. "Ya feelin' alright?"

And suddenly the words that had been about to tumble out of her mouth halted on her tongue. About the intruder in their home who'd knocked her out after telling her her husband was in danger, and revealing knowledge of something _no one _outside of herself and Porlyusica were aware of. She'd been about to tell him everything, when she suddenly stopped herself.

"I'm fine," she said instead, hands coming up to cradle his. She tried to smile, but it came out forced, and from the look on his face she wasn't fooling anyone.

He snorted. "Yeah, yer right as bloody rain. Didn't you go see the hag earlier?"

The concern – the one it had taken something as intimate as marriage to finally discern with ease but that was as clear now as the deep furrow between his brows – was touching, and she was again reminded of the words of the stranger.

And she didn't know if she'd even get that far in her explanation before he latched onto the words 'intruder in our home' and decided she needed round-the-clock protection. She'd been in that position before, and she wasn't about to land herself right back into the mess _that_ had been. Not if she didn't absolutely have to. And with the news she was about to deliver, he would have enough to worry about.

And part of her wanted to find out who the stranger was for herself, without hiding behind her husband for once. After all, she had enough to go on for Juvia to do a sweep of the city's nooks and crannies. Something told her it wasn't just the run-of-the-mill criminal she was dealing with. And if he'd been telling the _truth..._

"Tell me what Makarov wanted, first."

Something dark passed over his face, but he sighed, and sank down onto the couch beside her. Running a hand through his hair, unconsciously tugging some strands loose from the cord at the nape of his neck, he stared straight across the small living area to the wall opposite, where his gloves hung on the wall gathering dust.

"The old man wants me back in the ring. Not just to fight, but to figure out what's going on in the industry. Find out who's behind the recent murders and the rigged matches that's gumming the works."

Levy remembered what the stranger had told her, about the deaths in the paper. "They were boxers?" she asked. "Those men they found? The one in the river?"

Gajeel nodded. "Something's lurking, and I ain't liking the smell of it." He looked at her then. "I had a talk with Lil, told him I'd do it. It'll pay, and we _need_ that, but..." he met her gaze. "I don't have to. We've got enough to keep us going for now. It's not much, but between the two of us–"

"Gajeel," Levy cut him off, knowing she would have to say something now before she completely lost her nerve. Her stomach roiled at the thought, and at the words of the stranger that hovered at the back of her mind; an itch she couldn't quite reach.

"It's not just the two us." At his frown, she steeled herself. "I went to Porlyusica for a check-up because I thought I was sick. It turns out...I'm not. Or, not in the way I thought."

She watched as comprehension dawned on his face, along with the unmasked grief of someone who's known the loss of a child and lived to speak of it. And between the two, the fear she knew was mirrored on her own face; fear born of the knowledge of what havoc loss could wreck on a human heart.

"Gajeel, I'm...pregnant."

* * *

AN: The plot thickens and the noose tightens and all that lovely jazz that makes this story so interesting to write. I hope you're enjoying it so far!

**cute as a bug's ear**: very cute

**blow your wig**: become very excited

**gumming the works**: to cause something to run less smoothly


End file.
